Prologue: Eight Years Ago
"I'm Gonna Fart on Your Face"
"we may not always see eye to eye,
but we can try to see heart to heart,"
— sam levenson
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"You suck at dodging," I grinned before stretching out my arm in a lazy right hook.
He pushed his head back, but not enough. My fist landed on his cheek, but he quickly tried to kick out his foot in an attempt to distract me from his flying fist.
I rolled my eyes and avoided both hits before widening my stance a few feet from my brother, wearing a teasing smile. "Come on, Ruben. You gotta work quicker than that. Papa is gonna judge you."
"Mama won't," he retorted, but didn't hide his frown.
"Yeah, because she's nicer than papa," I snorted and crossed my arms before curling my toes. I wasn't wearing shoes or socks, so they ended up brushing against the black mats.
They were black so blood wasn't noticeable.
"I don't care." He stuck out his tongue while I smirked before bringing my arms up again. He noticed and got into position with a glare. "Don't hit my face."
"Don't put your face in the way of my fist," I shrugged before throwing a jab.
My thirteen-year-old twin brother only pouted, trying to avoid all my hits. But after a while we started to laugh every time he'd trip over his feet on the mats.
He looked just like me—obviously. But while my wavy blonde hair was up in a ponytail, his was styled in a quiff, where his sides were shaved, but the top of his hair curled upward.
Every time I tried to flatten it, he'd slap me. Then I'd punch him, and we'd start fighting.
We had the same eyes, but his lips were thinner than mine. And I had more hair, much to his anger with that. But it wasn't like I asked to be the hairier twin.
I also had an extra two inches on him—which I personally liked. Besides our seven-year-old brother, Lev, that meant Ruben was the smallest out of our siblings. And he was such a baby about it.
"Try to get me," I joked, wiggling my eyebrows when I evaded another one of his attempts to kick me. "I dare you, little brother."
I grinned, but had to hold back a loud chortle, imagining steam blowing out of his ears and nose like how I saw in those American cartoons.
"You are only two minutes older!" He shouted in Russian before angrily throwing out a weighted punch, which I easily jumped away from before kicking his calve and punching his ribs simultaneously.
I spun away and tsked once I was a few feet away, shaking my head in feign disappointment. "Never use your emotions when you fight, Benny. It's messy and shows your weakness."
He straightened in his spot, still glaring, but his eyes drifted to the floor between us, knowing I was right. If papa or he found out he did that, there would be consequences.
"Take a stance!" A voice bellowed in the training centre, and without having to glance at the wide door frame and the two solid black sliding doors on my right, my arms moved to a ninety-degree angle.
I finished parting my legs in a slight bend when Ruben finally jumped into action, doing the same across from me three seconds later.
Every second counted.
"Faster, Ruben! In line of combat, you must be faster or you will die!" He shouted in Russian, his voice reeking with aggression and cruelty. "Do you want to die?"
My brows scrunched together as my lower lip curled outwardly. In front of me, I saw Ruben faintly shaking his hands—either in annoyance or fear.
His voice lowered to a deep whisper when he said in English, "No, Micah."
Finally deciding on rewarding my older brother with my face, I calculatingly turned my head in his direction.
Even with the doorway filing almost the entire wall, Micah seemed to fill the space in my eyes. Maybe because his ego was large enough to fill it.
His curly blond hair, just like mine and Ruben's. But his was styled messier. To be honest, the three of us had almost all the same features, including our slightly hooded but upturned green eyes. But while Ruben and I had a small refined nose, Micah's was straight. But all of our chins were pointy, curtsy of mama's genetics.
Even at seventeen years old, my older brother of four years liked to imagine him as a God. Because of his intellect, his physical skills in action, and of course, his favouritism to papa.
But unlike Ruben and my other two brothers, Lev and Vladik, I didn't crave Micah's approval. I wanted to be the cause of his annoyance.
I mean, it was only fair. He annoyed me.
"Why are you being so mean?" I directed my insult-slash-question to Micah, straight-faced.
"I don't care if you think I'm mean, Roza. I want you to fight," he replied harshly, just as cold as how he spoke to Ruben.
Not that I expected kind words from him. Micah was as cold as my feet—and my feet got ready cold, so that was saying a lot.
"Can I fight you?" I pretended to widen my eyes innocently. "Or is that beneath you?"
His chin rose before he focused out the window on my left, as if the conversation was boring him. "Finish off with Ruben, Roza. Then I'll see." Then he dismissed me.
Ruben threw him a glare before twisting his head back to me with a knowing sigh. I offered a tight, apologetic smile before mentally figuring out my action plan.
The playfulness was gone, and we fought in seriousness. But it was barely a minute until I got Ruben on the floor, using double under-hooks and a body lock take down.
I was barely out of breath when stood upright, clapping my hands together. But as I started to turn toward the doorway again, the sound of a neanderthal scream filled the almost empty but large room.
Two arms clasped around me from behind, ready to flip me down, but I was already ahead of the movement, bending my knees and using my smaller weight to my advantage.
I used my lower back to flip him over my shoulder the same moment I grabbed the arm around my shoulders, loosening his hold on me in the process.
And just like that, my second oldest brother landed on his back with a loud thud.
I giggled as he flattened his feet on the mats, still wearing a pained expression. "I got you and Ruben? I'm two for one now," I teased, rubbing it in both of their faces.
Vladik slowly opened his Caribbean blue eyes—which he got from papa—that turned into slits when he saw my gleeful smile. "That's not nice, Roza," he frowned jokingly.
He started to sit up, so I stepped back, giving my fifteen-year-old brother space. Unlike Micah, Ruben or I, Vladik had the darker features from papa, including his dark brown wavy hair and olive skin. I'd seen pictures of mama and papa when they were younger, and he looked just like him.
But with less facial hair. But I didn't want to rub that in his face. Today, at least.
"And it's not nice sneaking up on people," I quipped but shot a glare over my shoulder, where Micah still stood silently. I knew it was his order.
Stupid older sibling superiority.
"But you did good," he mused with a small smile before standing on his feet. "You'll be ready for next week."
A shaky breath left me, but I hid my nervousness with a smile before nodding sharply. Papa didn't have time assessing all of our skills, so once a month, we'd have to perform in front of him and the seven Dynasties.
The Dynasties were settled everywhere, in almost every continent. But there was only one in North America.
The leaders of each Dynasty typically came to the mansion once a month for a meeting, and doing so, they'd bring their heirs to measure and criticize their skill, while also judging the parents who had children not suitable for the field.
And it started at ten years old.
And since papa not only managed the Russian Dynasty, but controlled all seven, he had higher expectations placed on him. Which meant: we had to work our butts off to make papa look good.
"I know I'm ready, Vladdie," I drawled, rolling my eyes before shoving my shoulder with his. "I'm better that you two."
"Not me," he quickly pointed out. "I wasn't trying."
I scoffed, giving him a knowing look. "Sure." I twisted my body, so I faced the doorway and more importantly, Micah. Who'd been watching us stonily.
I smiled and cocked my head. "Come, brother," I boasted in Russian before signalling the mats with my hand. "Or do you not want to lose?"
He was wearing a suit, and shiny shoes. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want to ruin his precious, papa-pleasing outfit.
But without moving his gaze off mine, he kicked off those same shiny shoes before taking a calculating step onto the mat before crossing the distance between us.
Neither of us peeled our gaze away from the other, but I heard our siblings taking a few steps back. I knew they were watching us, but I didn't want to give him the privilege to know that I retreated first.
"There is confidence, Roza, and then there is arrogance," he started, faintly sounding displeased at my behaviour. Like a father would be.
I didn't lose my smile, but it felt tighter—more forced. "Then what are you, Mickie? Confident, or arrogant?"
And just like that, his expression darkened. He always hated that nickname.
Well, probably because that I associated the name with the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Which is an insult to my character, he liked to say.
Blah blah blah. I'd sing the song as much as I damned please.
"I'm self-assured in my abilities, Roza. Are you?" And before I had a chance to realize, he was in position, a fist already flying to my abdomen.
I slid back and kicked his arm away before smiling sweetly. "I am. Thanks for asking, Mickie."
He fumed, and that was the start of our fight—or competition, I'd like to say. Since I acknowledged my pettiness, I wouldn't allow myself to lose.
And boy, I was really holding onto winning.
We went on for at least ten minutes, with me throwing jabs at him, but he swiftly avoided all hits. And when he tried to kick me loose on my feet, I'd get back up, easier each time.
Vladik and Ruben were standing next to the wall overlooking the courtyard of the back of the house, watching us. And I knew they were placing bets at this point, since both of them were wearing a small smirk as they pointed at Micah and I.
I could see, though, that Micah was tired of the back and forth, and before I knew it, he let me do an outside foot sweep, making him land on the floor, almost gracefully.
I refused to stomp on the ground like a child. Because he purposely let me win, so he could leave. I wasn't good enough for him.
The thought made me sad—sadder than I would have liked to be.
"I think that's enough practising for today," a soft voice called out from the hall leading to the large doorway.
Behind me, I heard Ruben and Vladik push themselves off the wall, so they could stand on either side of me. Micah was dusting off his hands, but followed his gaze to the source.
Mom was wearing a smile, her blonde hair ending by her collarbone. Her dimples were prominent as she glazed her eyes on all of us. Since it was December, she was dressed in sweatpants and a zip-up shirt—which was completely different from our outfits.
I was in a sports bra and shorts. The guys were all topless, only wearing basketball shorts, besides Micah.
My eyes drifted to her right, and I grinned, seeing my little brother, Lev, gripping mom's hand tightly. He was the only one out of the five of us who had light brown hair and similar eyes—which always confused me, since dad had ink black hair, and mom's was blonde.
But his features were a replica of dad's, besides the dimples. None of us had that, unfairly.
He was smiling before he released mom's hand, running toward me. I grinned and lifted him easily, since he was still small for his age.
"How was your class?" I asked in Russian while he reached for my hair—which was still in my ponytail.
He was a hair person. It was strange.
"Good," he replied back in English quietly, engrossed with the tips of my hair.
We all had to take lessons about our history and the Dynasty when we were kids, and this was the year it was Lev's turn. Someone came by twice a week and sat with him, and this would go on until he was ten.
Turning back to mom, I noted her holding a cake pan with her other hand, and I questioned, "What's that?"
She grinned and lifted her hand. "Pie. Vera and I were experimenting recipes today. And I want you all to try." She glanced to her right, where Micah stood silently. "That includes you, Micah."
"Da, mama," he nodded before stepping toward her. "I need to wash my hands."
She slid back and let him through, even though there was space on either side of her for him to exit from.
I watched Micah disappear around the corner before bringing my gaze back to mama. "And I need to change and shower. Is that okay?"
She smiled and tilted her head to the hall. "All of you, go. I don't need you smelling up the kitchen."
Vladik and Ruben muttered a reply, and the three of us strode to one of the three staircases. But since our bedrooms were all in the same wing, we moved in the same direction.
"Tell your papa too! Or I'll drag him out of the office and embarrass him like last time!"
I grinned, tempted not to tell him, just to watch the scene unfold.
Mama and papa met in New York when he came to the city for a meeting. Mama was Russian, but she couldn't fully speak the language, unlike papa. Which was why we were raised learning both English and Russian.
I always liked hearing their story.
They dated for a few months the year mama was graduating high school, but when she found out that papa was part of a mafia, she ran away and hid from him. Until he found her again, years later.
And yeah, they fell in love. Obviously. They had an four awesome kids. And Micah.
The second we reached the hallway, the three of us separated to our bedrooms. But instead of taking off my clothes right away, I moved to my king bed, which sat centre of my room.
On the bed's left side, was a wall with two large windows that overlooked acres of our backyard. Grass. Trees. A lake. Flowers. No person in sight.
I brought my legs underneath me, until I was sitting cross-legged while staring outside. I imagined running around the field, or plucking flowers. Or swimming in the lake, not the pool.
I let myself dream that, even though I knew it wasn't possible. Papa didn't let me be alone in the backyard without supervision. At least three men would follow me at all times. That took the fun out of it.
But still, it was easier to imagine than what I really wanted, because if I thought further, I knew it'd lead to more disappointment. Like living how people in American movies and shows lived. I always wondered what it was like, walking on a sidewalk with people you didn't know passing you by.
I was breathing out slowly when my bedroom door swung open behind me, and I snapped my head over my shoulder, glare in place.
Standing at the doorway, though, was Ruben and Vladik. Both wearing shirts now, but since their hair wasn't damp, I knew they hadn't taken a shower.
"Mama's gonna get pissed," I drawled, spinning around, so I could dangle my feet off the ledge of my bed. "She told you to shower."
"Us," Vladik reminded me with a smirk before crossing the distance between us. He sat next to me before falling backward, yawning. "Plus, I'm planning on training more after, so there isn't a point."
"Same," Ruben replied, sitting on my left. When I glanced his way, I frowned when I saw him not hiding his anxiousness as he chewed his lower lip. "You don't have to worry, Roza, but every year, more kids are joining, and if they're better than us, papa will be mad. You're already good."
I touched his shoulder, hoping to provide comfort. "If you want, I can help," I offered, lifting the corner of my mouth into a teasing smile. "You need to work on your jump kicks and left hooks. Also, your reflexes need to be quicker. When they drop you, you need to roll back up twice as fast."
Ruben scrunched his brows together and pursed his lips before narrowing his eyes on the ground. "You're making it sound like I'm a beginner."
"I'm not!" I defended as I straightened my back. "I'm just being honest with you, Benny. These are things you need to work on. But you're still a good fighter, better than most."
He inhaled sharply before he nodded once. "What about me?" Vladik chirped on my right, sitting up.
I rolled my eyes and dramatically swung my head in his direction. "Keep distance between you and your opponent. You're too close. And make sure to watch out for their kicks. You have a weak knee and can take you out like that," I snapped my fingers.
He glared. "I don't have a weak knee!"
"Do too!" I shouted back.
"Do not!"
I reached out and punched his left knee, which shook from my touch. "Do too!" I grinned, seeing his features morph to a cringe. "And you're also impatient. Work on that."
"I'm impatient? Says you."
I gaped. "No I'm not. I just want things when I want it."
"Impatient."
"I'll show you impatient when I kick your ass. Slowly," I glared, and he matched it before retorting.
That was the start of our five-minute argument, which led to Ruben jumping off the bed and to the couch in front of my bed to avoid being in the mix.
Our voices were raising with each passing word, until I swear it could be heard throughout the mansion.
It wasn't long until our screams reached the dev—I meant Micah.
"Both of you, shut up," Micah demanded the second he stood at my doorway, still wearing his suit.
Vladik and I were on our feet now, with me holding my tapochka threateningly in my hand.
Both of us snapped our focus to the door. Vladik said nothing, but I could see him retreating with a step toward my bed.
I still kept my hand up, but I did so by resting my elbow on my other hand, which stayed on my waist. I stared at Micah expectedly.
"This has nothing to do with you," I told him blankly.
"It doesn't have to be. I'm older, and you'll listen," he scolded, his voice hardening as he spoke through clenched teeth.
I pouted. "You're older but equally annoying? How does that make sense?"
"Learn respect."
"Learn minding your business," I replied smoothly, wearing a smile again. "Or I'm gonna fart on your face."
Both Vladik and Ruben choked on a laugh, probably from the randomness of my threat—not that I minded.
Micah shot his head in both of their directions, glaring angrily, which silenced both of their amusement. When he fixated on me again, he didn't lose any of his irritation.
"You do that, and I'll punish you," he threatened. "Twice the hours training. No phone."
"You mean the phone I only have access to for two hours a day, with someone watching me? Oh, how will I live without it," I drawled sarcastically with a dramatic tilt of my head.
"Tone down the attitude, Roza."
My eyes widened as my lips parted widely, enough for a fly to easily come in. And before my brain could connect with my body, my hand flung out, throwing my tapochka at Micah.
He jumped out of the way quickly, but not quick enough. My slipper grazed over his side, barely touching him, but it was enough to make him erupt.
"Roza!" He exploded.
"Micah!" I shouted, twice as loud.
"You are completely immature. A child who lacks control for the simplest of things," he bit out with his eyes narrowed into slits as he glided forward. "You disregard any sense of rules and authority, and I can only hope you don't embarrass papa next week."
My nose flared in frustration, wishing I was holding my tapochka, just so I could throw it again. "You're just mad I don't bow down to you," I accused, crossing my arms. "The great Micah Somov. The rudest person to ever exist on this damn planet!"
His eyes flashed with something, but as his lips started to part, a voice roared in Russian, "What is with the yelling!?"
I sucked a breath and dropped my gaze to the floor, hearing Micah slide away from the doorway at the same time.
Two feet stomped on the hardwood, getting louder and louder, until they paused, just a few feet from me. Everyone stood in silence, until the strong voice demanded, "Micah. What happened?"
"She threw her tapochka at me, papa," he said, monotone and without hesitance.
My head shot up, and I threw him a glare. "Because you told me to tone my attitude," I hissed, the words tasting gross as they came out. "I'll tone down my attitude when you tone down your God complex."
He straightened, and I smiled smugly. "Don't like hearing that, do you?"
"Roza," papa's voice held warning, and I pressed my lips together before turning my head toward him. He was watching me, quietly. Expectedly.
"Outside of training, we don't throw," he stated slowly in Russian before turning his head to Micah, who was clenching his jaw. "And Micah. Don't tell women to control their attitude. I won't be responsible for the outcome."
I smirked and stuck out my tongue at Micah before fastening my gaze on papa. He was already staring at me with disappointment, and I ignored how it seemed to pang something in my chest.
"Roza." He started with a calculating shake of the head. "Nelzya."
"Sorry, papa," I mumbled, but he only sighed before looking at the four of us slowly.
I took this time to measure him. Like Micah and Vladik, he was tall—taller than most. With ink black hair and Caribbean blue eyes. He's in his early forties, but he didn't seem old. Maybe thirty or so. Probably because he took good care of himself, and enforced we all do the same, even as kids.
Diets. Regulations. Control, control.
And like Micah, he was in a suit—kind of. Just without the tie and jacket.
"Hurry up," he said in Russian before sliding into the hall with raised brows. "Your mama is expecting you in the kitchen."
This time, he narrowed his eyes. "And if you don't like what she made, Lie. Understood?"
We all nodded simultaneously. "Da, papa."
He nodded, pleased, and we all took that as approval to step out of my room and toward the closest staircase. But before I left, I made sure to grab a shirt before following my siblings.
All while thinking what it would be like to be without control. Free.
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chapter 1/2 posted! authors
note in the next one x